


Robin Hood Was Far Too Good

by prodigy



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 21:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prodigy/pseuds/prodigy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stranger struck a lucifer match. He had a bright, gaudy red hat tipped back on his dark head at a rakish angle. "Have you got a governor?" he asked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Robin Hood Was Far Too Good

**Author's Note:**

> Written for wehappyfew's [multifandom AU drabble meme](http://wehappyfew.dreamwidth.org/37888.html). _Jason Todd as ~~Oliver Twist~~ the Artful Dodger! In Victorian Gotham!_

The stranger--the boy, really, because he was just a boy, if some six years' Timothy's senior--kept his tobacco in a snuffbox. Timothy watched him with saucerplate eyes as he extracted the gaudy, bejeweled piece from his over-sized coat pocket, took a pinch of the contents, packed it into the mouth of his pipe with relish, and then, after a theatrical pause, gave Timothy a sidelong look like he'd just noticed him staring. He did it all with nonchalant ease, of course, but Timothy could tell it was rehearsed. He wasn't a fool. He blushed anyway.

The stranger struck a lucifer match. He had a bright, gaudy red hat tipped back on his dark head at a rakish angle. "Have you got a governor?" he asked.

The question struck Timothy as difficult for no particular reason. He blinked like he'd been presented with some complex maths problem. He was vaguely aware that maths came in problems and that they could be complicated, which was the extent of his knowledge. "I--no," he said. "Not any more. I used to, in the--" he paused. "Where I used to be from. But I haven't been there in a bit."

It seemed a suitably vague answer to an unsuitably nosy question. _I was brought up well_ , Timothy wanted to tell him with a contrary wrinkle of his nose. _I've got manners. Don't talk down to me._ However, the stranger snorted and said, "The workhouse?"

Timothy went scarlet.

"You're a clever lad," said the stranger. "You speak well, for what you are, and I'm willing to bet you've got your letters. But being so small as you are," he gave a dark smile and Timothy was startled to see several of his teeth were capped, or replaced, with gold, "your hands wouldn't've got so rough any other way. Don't lie to me. I can smell oakum from half a mile."

Timothy stuck out his chin at a proud tilt, although in truth he couldn't think of anything to be proud of just now.

The stranger flashed him a grin, gold winking in his smile. He was handsome, definitely, and had to be fifteen or sixteen at least. "Don't be ashamed," he said. "We've all been there, once- or twice- or thrice a time. Beats the cold, 'less you can find a lady or a gent takes pity on you. Found a gent once." He flicked some ash off his fingers and offered Timothy the pipe. His expression was unreadable for a moment. "Not so bad," he said, "long as you get away before they get it in their heads to send you to school. Smoke?"

He wasn't _that_ handsome. Timothy shook his head.

"You know, you're likely enough. How would you like it," said the strange boy, "if you never had to work again?"

He must've seen Timothy recoil, as in fact Timothy wasn't that naive either, because he laughed. It was a raucous sound in the back of his throat, like a rook. "Nothing like that," he said. "No offense, mate, but you en't the prettiest thing on the street. I don't mean turning tricks. I mean--no masters. No governors. No gents, either." There was a serious furrow between his black eyebrows when he glanced down at Timothy. "Nothing standing between you and all this Godforsaken city's got to offer you." He shot him a crooked smile again, but the furrow hadn't gone away. He looked unusually intent. "It's taken enough already, hasn't it, now?"

Timothy stared back at him, unsure what to say. The stranger inclined his head. "What's your name, then?" he said.

"Timothy," blurted out Timothy. He wondered belatedly if he should've given a false one. He couldn't think of one right now, though. "Timothy Drake," he added in case the stranger thought he was some sort of by-blow who hadn't even a proper name.

To his astonishment, the stranger made a very unpleasant face. "Oh, _that_ won't do," he said with a dramatic shake of his head. "'Timothy.' Who the deuce is called Timothy? You look like a Rob," he said with a laugh. "I took you for a Rob. I like that. I think you're going to be a Rob now."

"I am not a Rob," Timothy objected. He was less chagrined on his name's behalf than he was mildly put out by the prospect of miscategorization. "I'm a Timothy."

"You're a Rob if you're going with me," declared the stranger and grinned as Timothy colored again. "Rob. Robert. Robin, like the robber. I like that. You give to the poor, Rob?"

" _I'm_ poor," said Timothy with a frown.

The stranger grinned and then got on one knee, dropping so their eyes were closer to level. His red velvet hat bobbed like a bright, deadly toadstool and the brim shifted to shade his face. "Good," he said. "So'm I. You want to shake on it, Robin Drake?" He held out his hand.

Timothy studied him. He'd gotten his composure back together, so though he was nearly intimidated into holding out his hand he held it to his chest and said, "What's yours? Your name?"

The stranger hesitated. "Jason Todd's the name my old lady gave me," he said with another one of his preoccupied half-smiles, "you know, like the hero." He looked charmed when Timothy's face lit up at the reference. "Everybody worth anything calls me Red." He lifted his own hand, which was adorned with a few rings, including a bright gold one with a garish fuschia flower on it, and spat on his fingers. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Rob."

After a moment's hesitation, watching Jason Todd dirty up his grubby music-hall finery by kneeling in the dust in front of him, Robin spat into his hand. He held it out with mild disgust. His heart was beating fast. In front of him, the youth who called himself Red winked and tipped his scarlet hat.


End file.
